


Assortiment

by roughmagic



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Explicit Language, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Other, Reader-Insert, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-26 02:34:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7556731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roughmagic/pseuds/roughmagic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>asɔʀtimɑ̃</em><br/>translations:<br/>(= choix) "assortment", "selection"</p><p> </p><p>Various small Overwatch fics as requested, mostly reader insert.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Soldier 76/Reader

**Author's Note:**

> These are all the little ficlets I end up writing during the course of being a mod of [an Overwatch writing blog!](http://kawaiis-writings.tumblr.com/) (Feel free to come by and request something if we've got the inbox open!)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was, "Could I request some hurt/comfort with soldier 76? But like, you get to comfort HIM," and you know I'm always down to treasure that old guy. 
> 
> Mentions of light injuries but nothing gory.

You’ve always trusted Mercy to bring him home off the battlefield in one piece, more of less. And she has, but the piece he’s in is banged up. You find out the hard way when you move in to embrace him and he hisses slightly, bruised and battered under and through all the armor.

“Angela’s busy,” Jack says, voice short and tight with discomfort as he stiffly sits down on the edge of the bed. “It can wait.”

“Hey.” You put a hand on his jaw, the mask’s metal warm from body heat. He lets you turn his face to yours, although it’s impossible to know if he’s looking at you, through the visor.

Something in Jack’s shoulders droops, and you run your other hand through his hair, stiff from old sweat but still soft under your fingers. The vocalizer in his mask lets out a crackly sigh, and you move on to find the releases on his mask, and then his visor. It’s not cheap equipment and you handle it carefully, setting it where it won’t slide off the bed.

Jack’s eyes are shut when you turn back to him and he looks so tired, dust and battlefield grime standing out more starkly to you now.

He needs a shower, but you wouldn’t put it past him to nod off standing up, and that sounds like another bruise waiting to happen. Your return your hands to his scalp and he leans into it, forehead eventually coming to rest against your stomach.

“You’ve got to take your jacket off,” you say, gently. Jack grunts in assent but doesn’t seem to want to move, so you do it for him. There’s more than a few holes in it, and you fold it over the back of a chair. That’s a repair job for another time. There are some flat armor plates you can undo after that, all neatly stacked aside. Almost as dented and scarred up as the old man himself.

When you kneel down to start undoing the armor encasing his lower legs, Jack puts a hand on your back. “I can do that much.”

“I know.” You continue anyway. He lets you.

Out of all the armor, all the gear, he doesn’t really look that much smaller. You’d carry him if you could, but as it is you just do what you an, activating one of his biotic emitters and setting it well within range to cast the warm yellow field over him. For it to last overnight, the frequency has to be tuned lower, which means he’ll have to stay put longer.

With his forearms propped on his knees and his head hung low, he looks ready to fall asleep right there. He’s still awake, though, and gets up long enough to wash his face and crawl back to bed, settling down gingerly against the pillows.

You’ve got an old medical kit you bring with you as you sit down beside him, and dab antiseptic against some of the nastier small wounds under his shirt. It stings, you know, but Jack doesn’t even seem to feel it. The biotic field will help the physical aches, but if anything’s still left in the morning you can bother Mercy about it.

Putting the medical kit away, you cuddle as close as you dare to Jack. He closes the distance himself, stubble scraping against your neck. It’s as much of an admission that he needs you that you’ll probably ever get.

You wrap yourself around him, resting your cheek against the top of his head. “Things were that bad?”

“They were.”

“You’re here now, though. Home safe.”

He sighs again. “Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading! :D


	2. Reaper/Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The request was a follow-up to a scenario where Reaper and the reader had a one-night stand: "he left in the night like a worn-out ghost. he’ll slink around and partially avoid you during the day, but in the evening you get a knock at your door."

You hadn’t ever figured he’d be the type to knock, so you think it’s reasonable to allow yourself some time to stare at him. 

Reaper takes up all the meaningful space in your doorway, the silhouette of his greatcoat cutting an imposing figure. There’s no way to tell what he’s thinking under the bony white mask, but you know you feel a kind of a fond exasperation. 

You keep a hand against the sliding door to your quarters so it’ll stay open, and resist the urge to put your other hand on your hip. “Do I have to invite you in, like a vampire?”

He makes a _tch_ noise and glides right through you, provoking an involuntary shudder. It feels like opening an oven that’s been running all day, a wave of hot, smoky air that passes quickly. 

It’s still strange to see him in full gear in the middle of your quarters. Possibly even more weird than seeing him in states of undress. Then, at least, you’ve got a lot to keep your attention on. Now you can only imagine how viciously he’s internally criticizing all the junk and knick knacks that have built up in here. 

You let the door slide shut and join him in the main living area. The big hood twists for a moment as he looks at you, before going back to roaming imperceptibly over the room. It strikes you as a gesture someone who’s lost would make, and you lean against the end of your couch. “So… what’s up?”

Reaper stares at you long enough that you can guess it’s supposed to be derisive. “ _That’s_ how you want to start?” His tone confirms it.

“What am I supposed to say? You’re the one that knocked on my door like a… a visiting salesman after…” _After fucking me all over the room last night_ doesn’t quite have the witty bite you want it to have, and threatens to make you blush. 

“You’re making this a lot more complicated than it needs to be,” he murmurs, voice slow and deep as ever. “Is that what you want?” 

He has a way of moving so that you never quite notice where he is until he’s there, gauntleted hands at your waist, boots planted on either side of your feet. You have to look up a lot more than you did before. You swallow thickly, tempted to just pry off that mask and let this dissolve into nothing that requires talking. “You know me, always difficult.”

“Cute…” he says, with a little _hmph_ that might be amusement or just exasperation. “But not an answer.”

“Why do _you_ care what I want out of this?” you demand, suddenly and vividly resenting him for slithering in here and assuming you want to talk about feelings just because you didn’t immediately rip his clothes off. Like there’s no middle ground between weeping confessions of love or rutting like animals on your kitchen table. 

The chin of his mask juts forward a little as he leans in. “Gives me something to dangle out of reach.”

He’s just trying to make you mad, and it’s worked. You work enough fingers under the sharp edges of the mask to get it loose and he growls as you throw it with a clatter somewhere else. Lunging forward into a hot, biting kiss, Reaper tips and chases you over the end of the couch, letting you squirm back enough to give you both enough room to lay on it. 

You feel the scratch of his beard under the hard shape of his jaw as his kiss moves from your lips to the crook of your neck, biting until you hiss and buck up underneath him. Your clothes get pulled and pushed and peeled away as he moves lower, the everpresent scratch of his gauntlets a gentle threat. 

“I just meant—” you blurt, propping yourself up on your elbows so you can look down at him, now framed between your knees. “It doesn’t have to be just this. We can talk sometimes.”

Gabriel sneers at you, not entirely unkindly, before pressing his mouth below your navel and continuing downwards. “Let me give you something to talk about.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! :)


End file.
